CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The man had been shot four times. One shot had gone perfectly through his throat and another had entered his face just below the right eye. The other two were almost directly beside one another, high up on his chest. Kate saw that the one under his eye had gone in at an angle—probably the one that had killed him before he’d had time to choke from the one through the neck.
She had plenty of time to access the scene; between the time she’d called the NYPD and the arrival of the first patrol car, she’d had a whole five minutes alone with the body. While she’d waited for the police to arrive, one of the things she’d done was check the man’s wallet, which she found in his back right pocket.
The dead man on the floor was Malcom Z. Beringer.
The scene seemed pretty cut-and-dr
